


lantern burning (flickered in my mind for only you)

by 16with18



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, One-Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-12 02:26:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3340139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/16with18/pseuds/16with18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis are each others' beautiful lights in the midst of this unfaithful darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lantern burning (flickered in my mind for only you)

**Author's Note:**

> this will be pretty short, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless . . . this is not beta'd, so all mistakes are my wrong-doing! sincerest apologies ❤
> 
> title taken from "this love" by the lovely taylor swift, and part of the description taken from a poem on twitter by anonymous.
> 
> word count: 2887

The rabbit-hole is blanketed with snow. Harry uses his mittens to wipe away the melting slush and pulls at the worn and wet leather strap that he's been pulling for years since he's discovered the small space in which all his fears and cowardliness is concealed. Harry lowers himself into the small enclosure and pulls the wooden and creaky trap-door shut after him until he is smothered in darkness and his former melancholy from all the years he's spent in this exact spot. He's almost too large to fit there now, his head ducked and his legs curled far too uncomfortably, but he doesn't want to leave. He doesn't want to face what the sad and angry world has waiting for him outside of the confines of this rabbit-hole that sits on a hill behind an old abandoned barn just outside of Holmes Chapel.

Harry takes a look at all the plastic bottles that have piled upon themselves over the years from him and Louis, who was the only other person who visited the place frequently up until the two boys graduated from high school and moved off to someplace without a safe haven that offers peace and serenity to all those in need. Harry still remembers the last night he saw him, where they both fit into that tiny little space at the same time, with the exception of Louis on Harry's lap with his mouth pressed to his neck. That night was the only night Harry still remembers clearly in the haste of their summer but seemingly long-lasting romance.

Louis was crying, which had never happened before. Louis was always the one to not care, to have things said to him painlessly. Harry always admired this. Louis never told him what he was upset over, but he knows that after Louis stopped crying he asked, "What is the difference between living and existing?"

Over the years, this had always meant something different to Harry every time he thought about it. Anything can exist. Existing just means that you're occupying a part of time and space. Living is something much larger than that, and goes beyond the vortex of existence into this something that no one can describe. After Louis asked this question, it hung in the air, unanswered and unanswerable and the silence that followed suit was deafening and the walls seemed to tremble with ironic quietude. Harry never said anything and they sat there together, unknowing of the absence they will be in of each other the following days and months and years. That night, that question was the last thing that was said between the two of them, and they both went their indifferent paths to go home, their goodbyes wavering and quiet and tense.

Harry hasn't seen Louis since but his Mum says he's in town for the holidays right now, too. She saw him at the market on Thursday with Lottie and Felicite and he said hello. He didn't ask about Harry, and whether this is good or bad, Harry is oblivious.

Harry looks around him and at the slices of light slipping through the holes and cracks of the wooden door and doesn't worry about the dirt he's sat on that will potentially ruin his new trousers. He doesn't care and doesn't get up. He wonders if Louis thinks about that day as much as he does, that question.

What is the difference between living and existing?

Harry can suddenly hear snow crunching beneath the pressure of nearing feet and ducks as though that will help him if someone discovers where he is hiding. The door above his head is lifted after a short pause in which the feet hesitate and you can hear someone reaching for that soggy leather strap. "Harry?"

"Jesus, Felicite," Harry yelps. Before him stands a girl who has indefinitely grown since he had last seen her, with a small smile of familiarity littering her mouth. "Scared the hell out of me."

She looks down at him with wide eyes and that small little smirk and then glances over her shoulder. "Yeah, sorry. My brother will be here any second, by the way . . . Boy, have you grown, Harry Styles."

Harry doesn't have any time to turn what she's saying over in his head before a pair of too-large (and very endearing) muck boots appear in front of his face and a voice of keen remembrance is saying, "Why am I not surprised to see you here, occupying my little fox den?"

Harry pulls himself up until he's standing there, nose level with Louis' waistline (who is complaining?) and he lets out a breath of nervous laughter. "Yours?" He asks, a sense of teasing and sarcasm lacing those five letters. "I'm the one who showed you the rabbit hole, Louis. Are you really about to lack a guy of his credit?"

"Of course I am," Louis laughs. Harry can see his breath. "Don't you know me at all?"

Not anymore, Harry thinks. He would have stopped himself from thinking it if he could.

Felicite speaks up then. "So, now what, Louis?"

Louis looks down at his sister and smiles. "What do you mean, 'now what?' Let's sit down and catch up."

It's then that Harry notices the pink mittens that Louis is sporting, embroidered with large hearts on the back of each palm that must belong to one of the sisters. Felicite stares at Louis for a quick moment before sighing. "I'm going back home. Have fun freezing your tail off by sitting in this snow."

She begins to trudge through the snow again, on her way home. Louis calls after her, that yes, he will have fun, and then sits down on the ledge of the rabbit hole, smile bright and directed towards Harry. "Hello, Curly."

Harry can feel himself smile and he whispers, "Hello, Lou."

Louis' eyes dart to the bottom of the rabbit hole and he asks, "May I?"

Harry can only nod and watch as the small boy crawls into the space that he already occupies and then they're sitting with their legs crushed against each other and their faces are within close proximity.

"Hey," Louis says again. "How are things?"

Harry lets out a laugh, and his breath curls up around them in white tendrils. "Things are . . . they're okay. I've moved out to London and I've got a shitty little apartment there now. And I'm working as a waiter."

Louis chuckles and shoves his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, that's what your mum told me."

Harry nods and pauses. "What about your things? How are they?"

A grin dances its way onto Louis' lips. "My things are very good actually." He pushes the fringe that hangs in his eyes back and Harry feels warmth spread throughout his chest. "I've got two jobs . . . Thankfully, I can handle them both. I'm working at this music shop in London at night and I am a day-care teacher in the um, day. I tried to find things that kind of balanced my love for music and kids."

Harry smiles. "That's great, Louis."

He nods and laughs. "It is. I've got a roommate as well. Zayn? You should remember him."

"Yes! I do," Harry says, and shifts his legs so Louis can have more room. Louis responds by smiling in acknowledgement and scooting over. "I've been wondering about him. The three of us were good friends in year eight and nine. How is he?"

"He's good," Louis smiles. "He's working as a tattoo artist and has got himself a boyfriend named Liam. Good lad."

Harry feels himself grin. Zayn had always been a good boy. Quiet but really worked hard for all the things he wanted. His mysterious quietude attracted all kinds of men and women and he never seemed to notice and if he did, he didn't care, his mind always dead set on the the things that really mattered. "That's incredible. I'm happy for him."

Louis nods and then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. Harry watches as he mutters a few curses while he fumbles to find his lighter. Eventually he pulls it out of his jeans and lights his cigarette and the hazy smoke curls up and around them in toxic ringlets. "You've started smoking?" Harry asks, and tries his best not to sound so patronizing.

"Yeah," Louis laughs, pulling the flame from his lips and letting out a breath of self-accusing laughter. "I suppose I have."

The two stay silent after that and they watch each other through the thick odor, Louis' eyes bright and the flame at the end of his cigarette like a bright red cherry in the silence of the smoke.

Louis makes a noise like an evil laugh. Condescending and arrogant. "When did you grow up so fast?"

Harry is confused and laughs. "What are you saying?"

"You're so handsome," the older man says, as if it is obvious. "I bet you've got every man and woman in London tripping themselves over you. Look at yourself."

Harry laughs and looks down, an annoying flush creeping up his neck and tickling the lobes of his ears.

"God, Harry Styles . . ." Louis says then, his eyes squinting through the cloud at Harry. He puts his cigarette out in the snow and crosses his arm over his chest. "I was so in love with you."

"I know," Harry whispers. "I was in love with you too."

Louis doesn't say anything for a while. He stares at Harry with his beautiful and bright eyes in the way that Harry always hated; analytic and exposing. Like he knew what you were thinking and feeling and wanting. Harry hopes that he can't tell of any of these things; that he's thinking of Louis' lips, and he's feeling lonely, and that he wants Louis to ask him to dinner because it's been years and Harry is ready to move on from the past, from that question that sticks to the back of his mind like gum on the bottom of a tennis shoe. This comparison is uncannily accurate, Harry thinks.

Louis still stares at him with like-lust, or maybe it's suspicion. Harry decides that it is most definitely the latter. "Have you got a boyfriend, Harry?"

Harry looks down at his jeans, picks at a distressed hole, pulls at the small strings. "I don't have time for one. Do you?"

Louis shakes his head. "I don't want one," he says.

Harry can't say anything so he just sits there. And there it is, again, for maybe the sixth time since their shitty reunion; the dreadful silence. Or maybe; The Dreadful Silence.

Neither of the men make an effort to shake this absurd stillness. And Louis stares at Harry and Harry stares at the ground, because he can't look into Louis' eyes without wanting to laugh or cry or scream or think about that damned question.

And then Louis lets out this small sound, this grunt, like he wanted Harry to look at him, and so Harry does. And when he does, he is blind sided because Louis wanted Harry to look at him and Harry thinks that he knows exactly why.

"What is the difference between living and existing?"

Louis looks down and laughs, with a twinkle of mischief in his eye. "I don't know, Curly. What is the difference?"

"I don't know," he lies.

Louis nods and blinks. "You do. Tell me."

"Tell me why you asked me, first." Harry repremands.

Louis laughs. "I was 18. I was naive. And dumb, and I wanted to know the difference. I wanted to know if I was living or if I was existing. It doesn't even makes sense; that question."

"Yes it does."

Louis rolls his eyes and grins. "Then please . . . tell me the difference. Enlighten me with your gray matter."

Harry almost smiles, and waits a moment to speak, because truthfully, what he is about to say is ridiculous, and Louis will probably think that, too. " . . . I have this theorem," he says testfully. "I've thought about it every day since that night, you know? The night you asked me? Right so, to live, you've got to have this . . . this constant. You need to have a constant. Maybe it's a routine, or your lover, or your mum, or even some hobby ike painting or reading . . . you just need something that makes you happy, that makes you feel alive. Something that helps you live and breathe and cry tears of joy and tears of sadness and tears of anger. Something that makes you feel _something._ "

Louis laughs, really laughs but not mockingly. He throws his head back and lets out a good-hearted laugh, all crinkly eyes and pearly-white teeth and breathtaking beauty. "And existing?" He asks then, and Harry feels a surge a confidence rush through his blood and heart and brain.

"Existing is just existance. Anything can exist. Everything and everyone exists. If you exist, you're just there. You don't have a constant; you don't have someone you would die for; you have nothing that makes you happy or sad or angry. You're like a zombie, you just walk around and watch everyone around you live; they're not existing, they're living. They have a lover, a mum, a home, a hobby. They have a constant. And you don't . . . because you only exist. And the difference between these two massive states of mind, living and existing, is that you can choose between these two. And I think that too many people in this horrible and lonely world choose to only exist. And that makes me want to only exist too.

"Living is like being a lantern. This lively, flickering lantern that is shining so brightly in the darkness and nobody can touch you. You're invincible because you've got that fucking constant and because you're living. And even the most toxic of airs only makes you shine brighter, and sometimes they can light you up into this mass of fiery explosions and beauty and you can live longer because you're living! And you can't be afraid of anything." Harry knows he's talking to fast but he doesn't bother slowing himself down. He feels alive. Like a lantern's living flame outshining the hateful darkness that he's been drowning in since that last night in this concave they've grown up in. "And when you exist? You're like a spark from that living flame. It dies out . . . fades and merges into the disgusting darkness. You're sad and existing. You have nothing and you are nothing. That is what existing is like."

Harry is breathing heavily now, and then Louis asks him, "So, Curly . . . Are you living or are you existing?"

"I'm living," he answers with finality.

Then it's silent again. It's not Dreadful. It's peaceful. It's The Peaceful Silence.

"You know what I think, Harry Styles?" Louis asks eventually.

Harry doesn't even have to say anything before Louis leans in really closely and his breath is hot against Harry's cheeks. He smells like cigarettes and his mum's house. He smells familiar. "I think that this darkness that I am burning in is deeply unfaithful. That I am living but I am lonely."

Harry sucks in a deep breath and tries his best to not lack courage; to not cry or scream or laugh. "Me too."

Louis reaches for Harry's hands and suddenly Harry is trapped and is forced to look Louis in the eye, where the flame there is going dim. "Maybe," Louis starts, his voice a small whisper. "We can be lanterns together. We can be each other's lights in the unfaithful darkness."

Harry agrees because if he were to choose any lantern in the world to share the darkness with him, it would be Louis. He is the liveliest and most beautiful one of them all.

*  
With a heavy heart, Harry stood. Louis followed then, and they both climbed out of the rabbit hole together, like they had that last night in The Dreadful Silence.

Harry doesn't start to walk to the left and Louis doesn't start to walk straight, their far away homes that are tied together by their annoying little romance. Those homes are so far away yet they could not be any closer.

"It's been crazy, hasn't it?" Louis asks, The newfound Peaceful Quiet shattering like delicate glass.

Harry looks down at him. He can see his breath come out in a white fog when he speaks, the white cloud curling around his words like Louis' cigarette smoke. "What has been crazy?"

Louis looks up at Harry then. In his eye, a glimmer ofthe flickering and beautiful flame and on his lips, a kiss that had never been exchanged. "Everything."

After that, a wingbeat of silence as the pair stared on at the expanse of their small hometown that was swallowed in the snow, and then two pairs of boots crunching in the ice as they went on their separate ways. Louis was wrong. Nothing is ever crazy.


End file.
